Waking The Dragon

by Alexis Davie

  “S’okay,” he said. She squeezed the hand she was still holding.

  “Sweet dreams, dragon king…” And she was asleep again. She probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning.

  Shakily, Garrick walked over to the sink for yet another glass of water. He never rehydrated so efficiently. He found himself splashing his face, too, letting the cold liquid run down his chest and pool in his belly button, trickle down to his jeans.

  Back in his room, in his bed, Garrick lay in the dark with his eyes open. His dragon was restless, trying to tell him something. He was trying to ignore the dragon. He wouldn’t sleep, he knew it already. And who knew what tomorrow would bring, now he’d let the wild little witch in.

  6

  Brinley

  “Are you… cleaning?” Brinley had just opened her eyes and pushed herself up on an elbow. Garrick was collecting plates and bottles, dropping the plates in a sink full of soapy water.

  “What, you don’t think the place was a mess?”

  “Uh…” Brin sat up. “Yeah, I just didn’t think you were the cleaning type.”

  Garrick turned to give her a… was that a smile? Was that a cheeky look?

  “Well, you don’t know me that well, do you?”

  Brinley pulled back the cover that was over her.

  “Guess not.” Then she looked down. The cover… She’d thought that had been a dream. “You brought me blankets?”

  At the sink, Garrick shrugged. “A blanket, don’t get carried away.”

  She must have dreamt the tenderness at least, right? “Thanks. I slept great.”

  “Good,” Garrick said. “I’ve no food, but coffee is on. Grab a cup.”

  Brinley walked over to the kitchen almost gingerly, and she grabbed a cup from the drying rack and gave it a wipe with a tea towel.

  “Thanks.” Done with the washing up, Garrick turned and grabbed the towel from her, drying up his hands. He was… smiling? He looked tired, though. Bags under his eyes. “Are you okay?” Brin asked. She was trying to get something from him but still just bouncing back to herself. The attraction she was annoyed to be feeling towards the, frankly, grumpy old man. Though this morning, apparently not so grumpy.

  “What?” Garrick asked. “I’m not allowed to be in a good mood?” Brin shrugged. She supposed he was. “Don’t we have evil to vanquish or something? What’s the plan?” He was still barefoot, and he was wearing a vest and thin jeans. His lovely milky-pale arms were perfectly muscled at the shoulders. Brin tried to shake it out of her head. No. Dragon king. No. He chucked the towel on the counter, and she grabbed it and hung it on the door of the stove, off the handle.

  “Uh, I dunno. I thought you were the big fancy boss dragon? What’s your plan?”

  “Maybe,” Garrick said, turning so suddenly that Brin almost walked into him, “we should sit down and come up with a plan together? We do, after all, have complimentary problems.”

  She had ended up standing so close to him she could feel his body heat. Smell his toothpaste.

  “Toothpaste!” she said, too loudly and too suddenly. Without thinking, she covered her mouth with one hand. “I mean, can I use some… some toothpaste?”

  Garrick looked like he was about to laugh, raising his eyebrows. “Planning on some wild make-out sessions?”

  “None of your business,” she said, feeling herself turn pink again. “Just let me use the main bathroom? I need to shower, too. Then we can do this famous-five big brave plan, okay?” Garrick pointed towards the one corridor out of the main room.

  “Can’t miss it,” he said. “There are towels in the cupboard. Use any… well, whatever there is. Soap and shampoo, I think. A straight razor, no good for shaving legs.”

  Brinley shot him a look and went to fumble in her bag for a toothbrush. What the hell was wrong with her? She headed down the corridor as quickly as possible and opened the first door. A bedroom. All white. Weirdly clean. She closed the door very quickly. The next was the bathroom. Exposed copper piping, a huge shower… big enough for two. For four, Brin thought, shaking her head at the idea. She went to the cupboard for towels and, to her surprise, found huge fluffy things, soft to the touch and hyper-clean smelling.

  Her mouth tasted like something had died in it. That would be the whiskey. More in keeping with who Garrick seemed to be, he had squeezed the toothpaste from the middle and left the cap off. One would think, after such a long life, he would know to push from the end. But then, a young Garrick had probably brushed his teeth with… what… a stick and charcoal? The thought made her laugh, mouth full of toothpaste foam, so it spilled down her chin. She glanced in the mirror to wipe it off. She looked a little hungover, with slight bags under her eyes, and her hair was a mess from getting wet in the rain and her sleeping funny on the lounger. But she wasn’t too bad.

  Brin spat and rinsed, put her toothbrush down, and slipped out of her clothes. Then she looked in the big round mirror again, standing up straight, looking herself up and down. She was almost as pale as Garrick, her eyes a warmer kind of green, a little cat-like. Her red hair set off her freckles. Her heart-shaped face was no longer girlish, she realized, mirrored in the heart of her full lips.

  There had been boys, of course. A couple of them. And there had been the enforced dates with Xander, who had been handsy to the point she’d had to tense her whole body against his advances and tell him she wanted to wait. And she did—she wanted to wait until she could get the hell away from him and find someone she was supposed to be with. Someone she really wanted.

  She just hadn’t expected, well, a dragon king. It was stupid, anyway, Garrick must see her as a kid. They could help one another, was all. But she couldn’t help herself; she was imagining him, now she’d seen him out of that stupid suit. She was thinking about his hard to read eyes, his lovely shoulders, and what it would be like to pull his vest up, touch his lightly haired stomach, trace his hipbones. She had pretty much seen him naked after his change the evening before, and she could imagine, too, what those long pale fingers of his would feel like stroking down her sides, playing with the band of her underwear and slipping down inside her panties—

  A crash from outside broke into Brinley’s reverie. She pulled her own hand away from her underwear, from her hot wetness.

  “Damn it!” Garrick’s irritated voice came from the hallway. “Sorry, taking out the rubbish. As you were.”

  Brin was blushing at herself in the mirror. No, not as she was. Shower time.

  It was one of those ridiculous rainforest showerheads. The water was hot and glorious after yesterday’s horrible weather, her hangover, and her cramped sleep. She let it fall on her upturned face, eyes closed, and it was a while before she began to actually wash and realized the shower door was open. The bathroom was soaked. Ugh. She was an idiot. At least it was a distraction. Quickly, she pulled the door shut and washed her hair, soaped, rinsed, and turned off the shower. Thankfully, there were plenty of towels. She used a couple to mop and left them in a pile, assuming that was the done thing in the flat. It certainly seemed as much from the state of the place when she’d got there yesterday.

  Room mostly dry, Brin looked for her clothes. Ah, the clothes she had forgotten to bring with her. And yesterday’s were soaked and in a pile with the towels. Well, this was ridiculous. Even more thankful than she had been for the size and thickness of the towels, Brinley wrapped herself in one and leaned out the door of the bathroom. She couldn’t see Garrick in the big living room/kitchen. He was maybe still taking out the rubbish He had seemed to be having trouble with.

  She decided to make a run for it. In the living room, Brin leaned over and began rooting around in her bag for clean underwear. She glanced up to look out the huge windows and assess the weather; sunny. A dress would do.

  “Oh!” Brinley spun around on her still-damp feet and nearly slipped over. “Why are you so… naked?” Garrick stood in the hall to his bedroom in just his underwear, a comb in his hand. His hair was wet. �
��I’m, uh… not used to visitors. I have my own bathroom.”

  “Who has one bedroom and two bathrooms?”

  “I used to have parties, but I don’t like people staying. Unless they’re staying in my… I mean, I do! Obviously.”

  Brin realized she had lacy underwear in her hand. There was nowhere to hide it, she was in a towel. This really was ridiculous. “I forgot clean clothes. Also, I got your bathroom really wet, sorry.”

  Garrick shrugged. “Wet stuff dries.” He walked further into the room. Still, all she could feel from him was reflection. The occasional flash of something grey and cold… the dragon, she guessed, and then that hot want she’d felt in the bathroom.

  Brinley began walking towards the bathroom.

  Garrick said her name. She was beside him, turned to him. She was definitely blushing again. She could feel the space between them.

  “Yes?”

  “I just thought maybe you need more clothes than just those knickers?”

  Brin looked at the lacy nothing in her hand. Shit. “Oh… yeah… I’ll…”

  But Garrick’s hand was on her bare, still slightly damp upper arm. His breathing was quick, shallow. She looked up at him, at those dragon eyes she had thought of as cold, but… Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t been looking at a pane of glass with Garrick. She hadn’t been seeing herself reflected. The attraction was his, the hot need, the fascination.

  “Oh…” she breathed. Garrick hadn’t moved, and there was still only one point of contact. He blinked one of his slow, unusual blinks.

  “Am I… mistaken?” he asked, keeping his hand on her arm, his growl quieter than she had yet heard it. He seemed almost nervous. She realized she had been holding her breath, and it was all she could do not to take an obvious gasp of air. She shook her head.

  “No,” she said quietly. “Not mistaken. I just… I usually can see… you’ve caught me off guard.”

  Garrick nodded. “I could feel you poking around, reading me. You’re a powerful empath, aren’t you? Why are you so… well, so clumsy with it?”

  Brinley dropped the underwear she was holding and reached her hand out to Garrick’s side, stroked up to his ribs. His soft, warm skin felt wonderful against the back of her hand, and he bit his bottom lip in obvious pleasure at the light touch.

  “Maybe we could talk about that later?” Brinley suggested, and she let go of her towel, letting it drop to the ground, revealing her whole naked self to Garrick. He looked her up and down and then muttered an expletive under his breath. The desire in his eyes painted them a whole new color, a more golden kind of green, as he leaned down to her and kissed her, cupping her face in his beautiful, slim hand. He caressed her cheek, lightly bit her lip as their tongues met, fought softly, and she moaned.

  Then Garrick lifted her up. He was tall enough, and she was small enough, that this was the only logical way for them to deepen the kiss. Her legs wrapped around him, and she could feel him, hard, pressing into her. When she responded by pushing closer to him, it was his time to moan, hold her there with one hand on her arse.

  She pulled away from the kiss for a moment to say, “Bedroom!” in a tone that was surprisingly commanding. Garrick nodded and walked down the hall with her still lifted and wrapped around him, kissing his neck. In the bedroom, he laid her down surprisingly gently on the huge white bed and kissed her mouth again, her neck, collarbone, one breast and then the other, and then he was cupping them and kissing down her stomach to her hips, a nibble of her thighs, and between them to where she was far wetter than she had been imagining this in the bathroom earlier. His tongue sent shockwaves through her, something like fireflies, bobbing and weaving and reaching every inch of her skin.

  “God,” she moaned, “I’m glad you’ve had so many years of practice…”

  Emerging from between her thighs, Garrick almost laughed before he kissed her. He tasted of her, salty and sticky and just a little sweet. He was still kissing slowly, carefully, exploring her, but Brinley couldn’t stand to wait any longer. She pulled at the band of his boxers, and he wriggled out of them, still ferociously kissing her. His lips were chapped, rough. As he got out of his underwear, he had to move his body away from her, and then he was there again, pressing against her, throbbing and hard. He made noises he clearly couldn’t help as he moved on her, and his leg parted her thighs, pressed into her, her wetness coating his thigh, the fireflies collecting below her bellybutton. She whispered his name in his ear, almost in surprise this was happening. Surprise it was so unbelievably perfect. She had never felt pleasure like this.

  Brinley pushed Garrick’s shoulder, flipping him over. He let her and soon was lying on his back, deep in the thick duvet, like they were doing this on a cloud. The sun coming through his bedroom window lit him until he almost glowed. His eyes, fixed on hers, were another color again. A translucent, sea-glass color.

  She guided him into her, and he whimpered. His hands on her hips weren’t pushy, just helped her keep her rhythm as she moved for herself, planting her hips to have him deep inside her and then pulling away so that every time, there was another shock of hot joy. And then he held himself in deep. He sat up and flipped her onto her back, not letting them lose their connection. He held her hands down above her head, kissing her breasts. One hand moved lower, and soon, she had all but forgotten where she was. She was lost in the sun coming through the window, the fireflies that were now more like a fire, and her whole body tensed in a final shock of pleasure, with Garrick responding to her tense body, gasping and cursing in her ear, his sweaty body pressed to hers, until their breaths slowed in unison and they were lying beside one another, limbs hooked together, and she was tracing the lines of his beautiful, androgynous face with a thumb.

  “That was unexpected,” Brinley managed. Garrick smiled and kissed her gently.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry I called you little witch.”

  She smiled. “It’s accurate. I mean, I’m a small woman. A small witch.”

  Garrick looked thoughtful before he said, “Yes, but I think you might be… well… brilliant.”

  Brinley looked at him for a moment longer, and then rolled away, reaching the edge of the big bed. She stood, pushed her hair behind an ear. “We have work to do, right?”

  7

  Garrick

  Garrick pushed himself up on his elbows in the bed. Brinley had rolled to the edge suddenly, like she was trying to get away from him. Like he’d done something wrong.

  Garrick’s mind was a muddle. It had been a long time since he’d done… that. He’d fucked people, obviously. He wasn’t a monk. But not like that. And now she was… well, she was leaving the room.

  “Yeah,” Garrick called after her. “What’s the plan?” Shit, he sounded needy. What was happening? He stood and opened his wardrobe. He pulled underwear on, and he was about to go for one of the suits when he thought of Brinley taking the piss the day before. He shook his head lightly. He hadn’t really meant to, but he grabbed a t-shirt, last night’s jeans.

  In the living room, Brinley was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was wearing a dark green sundress. She seemed to glow in it, pale skin, red hair, the sunshine after yesterday’s rain, and the big spell book in front of her on the coffee table.

  “So,” she said, and she tucked her bobbed hair behind both ears. Garrick was fighting a smile. She was being business like. “It seems like we both have problems, and they’re… well… tandem? My father wants me to marry Xander and to calm him down and consolidate power, and you need to stop him to get… what is it, a council? Off your back. My memories of our conversation last night aren’t the clearest.”

  Garrick nodded, walking over to her. He sat down opposite her, on the floor. His hands rested on the coffee table.

  Brinley tapped the book. “We have the advantage over my father right now, because we have this. There’s nothing he cares about more in the world.”

  Garrick felt his eyebrows raise. “Not… his daughter
?”

  Brinley smiled. “No. Maybe if I had been a son… but even then, he really loves this book. It’s basically what makes him a high warlock. It’s the spells of my family going back generations. At least if I were a boy, I would have learned more of them. There were a lot of lessons to make me marriage material. I’m pretty good on the harp, though.”

  She was funny. Garrick hadn’t noticed that yesterday. Or maybe he had, but he hadn’t wanted to. He laughed at the harp thing. “Really?”

  Brinley nodded and tucked her hair again. It was really a little too short to stay behind her ears, but she was determined. “Yeah. Oddly, it doesn’t come in handy much. When I was being made to court Xander, I never once played for him.”

  “What do you mean, made?” Garrick asked, worrying about her despite himself; not really, at this point, in control of his mouth. Brinley waved a hand, almost rolled her eyes,

  “Politics,” she said. “You must know all about it. Let’s work on our plan, shall we?”

  “Are we robbing a bank?” Garrick smiled. He’d been smiling a lot today.

  “No,” she said, “but I do think you should go and see what’s going on down south? For your sake and for mine. Bit of recon. You can pretend it’s a bank robbery, if you like.”

  Garrick felt in his pockets. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Can I have one?”

  He nodded, stood up, and walked over to the counter, where there was a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. One of the perks of being an immortal was the smoking. Returning to the table, he handed her a cigarette. She looked amazing lighting it, blowing the smoke around her, softening her edges, as if in a dream.

  “Okay,” Garrick said once he’d lit his own. “So… how do I recon? Where am I going, and who am I following? Do I have to cut holes in a newspaper to spy?”